


Something Rotten

by lumiere42



Series: Retrograde [7]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: A/U, Ableism, Acrophobia, Agoraphobia, F/M, Harassment, Maeve ain't precisely NT either, Mild Sexual Content, Reid is autistic, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumiere42/pseuds/lumiere42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The corpse flower isn't the only rotten thing they encounter at the Botanic Gardens.  A/U for events after "Zugzwang"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Rotten

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Criminal Minds or anything else copyrighted herein. Homage, no $$$ made.

_July 21, United States Botanic Gardens:_

 

"Do you want to see this corpse flower thing first, or should we do the walk-through and then go to it?"

She doesn't register his question right away.  She's too busy focusing on the cool solidity of the wall at her back and watching the growing crowd swirling around in the atrium.  There are _lots_ of people here. Maybe it just seems like a lot because she's still not entirely reacclimated to public spaces.  She can hear the rise and fall of everyone's echoing speech.

"Maeve?"  A light tap on her shoulder. She jumps, a brief unpleasant rush of adrenaline flooding her.

"Sorry."  Spencer looks worried now, eyes wider and brow furrowed.  She takes his hand and turns toward the big map on the wall.

"It's okay.  I just got - distracted."  

"Crowd bothering you?"

"Only a little."  She takes a deep breath.  The air in here is more warm and damp than she'd expected, though that makes sense, with all the delicate climate controlling the place has for the various plants' health.  Good thing she left her jacket at home. Even if it _would_ be nice to hide in right about now.

"It's not usually like this. Not this early on a Sunday. It's just - "

"Everyone's here to see the flower."  She laughs a little.  "That gigantic, stinky flower."

"It's rare to see a titan arum outside of East Asia.  Only a few gardens in the world have specimens.  Seeing them in bloom is even rarer."  Spencer's bouncing up and down on tiptoe a bit, his voice louder than usual.  She recognizes this by now - it's how he acts when he's really excited about something - and it makes her smile.  A brochure-reading woman in a blue shirt nearby looks up at them briefly.

"Let's go look at it first thing, then.  _Before_ people _really_ start coming in."

 

The titan arum is in a room in the east wing dedicated to rare and exotic plants.  There's a line stretching back down one of the glassed-in halls.  The sun refracting through the glass makes it bright and hot inside.  Between the temperature and the way Spencer had kept sneaking little sidelong glances at her legs during the Metro ride over here, she's glad she wore shorts.

Spencer keeps looking around, squinting and blinking, flapping the map brochure at his side.  She nudges him.  "Sunglasses?"

It takes a moment for him to respond. "Oh. Right."  He fishes them out of a side pocket and puts them on, slowly.  They're the big round ones, slightly alien-looking.  Between them and his blue sweater and lumpy cargo pants, he looks dorky, in a really cute sort of way.

They're in line between Blue Shirt Woman behind them and an elderly man reeking of cheap cologne ahead of them.  She stares out the windows at the rose garden outside, the blooming plants bright soft bits of color through the blurry glass.  The noise and smell of people this close is starting to make her feel a little claustrophobic.  At least the line is moving fast.

As they approach the door, she gets out her camera.  It's palm-sized, just right for a pocket, a nice plus for doing things like this where you didn't want to be lugging a bag around all day.  She takes a couple of practice shots of the garden and the glassed-over ceiling.

"Did you ever tell me you like photography?" Spencer asks.

"I probably mentioned it at some point.  I'm a little out of practice, obviously."  The camera's screen shows clear pictures.  Good. 

The line moves into the display room.  The titan arum plant is in its own space, with a rope railing around it.  It looks like a large beach umbrella stuck upside-down and half-open in the sand, green and pink, not quite as tall as her.  People ahead, closer to it, are making faces and various sounds of disgust as they circle it.  

 _Come on, it can't be_ that _bad_ , she thinks.  Then the smell hits her, a roadkill stench so potent she can almost taste it.  She gags slightly, resisting the urge to pull her shirt collar up over her nose.

"Oof," she says, as the line goes up against the ropes.  

"It's pollinated by flies and other insects that like rotting meat.  The smell is to draw them."  Spencer doesn't seem to be reacting visibly to the stink, though she thinks he's a bit paler than usual.  "It's not even fully in bloom yet.  Imagine what it's like then."

"I'd rather not."  She takes a few pictures, aiming the camera with one hand and holding her nose with the other, before the line circles around and out into another hallway. Blue Shirt Woman hurries past them, a hand over her mouth. 

Once the smell is more or less out of range, they draw over against the wall, out of the way of the moving crowd.  Spencer opens the map up again.  

"Didn't that bother you at all?" she asks.

"Not really.  I mean, it's not _nice_. They call it the corpse flower for a reason and it's accurate.  But I've encountered the real thing under much less controlled circumstances, so comparatively..."  He looks at her and shrugs, then laughs.  "That probably sounds awful."

"No."  Of _course_ he's been around real dead bodies, because of his work.  She hadn't thought about that.  

"It's not that it's not terrible.  It's that it doesn't...get to me."  He looks intently back down at the map. " _Now_ , since we've seen the Reeking Flower of Doom, I suggest we commence a nice leisurely walk-through."

 

The Orchid Room is much larger than she expected, very damp and smelling of greenery and delicate blooming flowers.  There are people further up, and behind them, on the walkways. She can hear them, but  they're obscured by the big, low-limbed trees and the great snarls of flowering vines growing up to entwine with masses of dangling aerial roots.  

Spencer goes ahead up the path. She lags behind, crossing from side to side to lean over railings and zoom in on individual blooms before taking pictures.  She hadn't realized orchids came in quite _so_ many colors: pink, purple, red, orange, spotted.  Twice, passersby jostle her unexpectedly.  She's concentrating so hard, she only startles a little.

When she finally reaches the path's end, Spencer's there, reading one of the informational signs as other camera-carrying people drift past.

"There are orchids shaped like female wasps, specifically to trick male wasps into mating with them and thereby pollinating them," he greets her. "Did you know?"

"Now I do.  I'm glad there aren't any plants that mimic humans that way."

"I'm sure we could find some 1950s science fiction movie like that if we looked hard enough, though.  There _are_ plant-people and pod-people short stories.  _Lots_ of sentient tree-spirit and plant-spirit stories all over the world, too, though that's not quite the same thing."

"I think there was an _X-Files_ episode about something similar. I have the DVDs at home.  We could check tonight, after.  If you want to come over, I mean."

He nods, then takes her free hand as they enter the Jungle Room.

There's a lot more echoing in here, a sudden sense of _bigness._   She looks up and sees the atrium ceiling, glass panels dripping with condensation and arching far above their heads in a turreted dome, tropical trees all around them reaching high up into it.  It reminds her of one of those ornate Victorian-era freestanding birdcages, just a lot larger.

"They replicated a patch of rain forest," Spencer says, almost in her ear.  "With all its levels.  The room's set up so you can see it from almost every possible angle." He points up, and she looks again, expecting something especially interesting among the trees.  Then she realizes what he's indicating: the catwalk running around the room partway up, at just the right height to look down on most of the jungle canopy.  Her stomach knots up.

"You want us to go up there?"

"I wasn't _planning_ on it.  But it _would_ be a good exposure exercise."

She eyes the catwalk. The silhouettes of people up there seem so distant.  "I don't know if I can walk around that whole thing." She's not even sure she can manage going up there at all, but she doesn't want to say that and sound so chicken.

"How about we go up and just go out on it a little ways?  Stay for five minutes, then come back down."

She considers. "Okay."

 

The elevator is mercifully empty.  They emerge onto the catwalk near the stand of Brazil nut trees, the bushy leaves blocking most of the view out and down.  She checks her watch, to mark the time.

They walk along the catwalk's center at first, slowly.  She keeps her eyes on the treetops, trying to ignore the other people walking past.  She's shivering a little, even in the humid warmth.

Spencer's hand, warm on her elbow.  "You okay?" 

She nods and takes a deep breath, then another.

"Good."  He tugs her arm, just slightly. "Now we should try looking down."

She stares at him. "Are you sure?  I mean, if I - freak out up here - "

"Then I'm here to explain."

She shakes her head.  "You're lucky I love you, 'cause I _hate_ that you're making me do this."

They go over to the catwalk's left side.  The railings here are actually higher than the ones on the Rock Creek Park bridge, which helps, but at the park there hadn't been people's _voices_ so far below to indicate just how high up she was.  She grabs the railing with both hands, just as she feels Spencer stepping away from her.

"Hey - "

"Just take a moment to feel it.  Yourself, _by_ yourself, up here in space."  Spencer's voice is calm and quiet.  "Okay?"

 _Not really_ , she thinks, but she nods anyway.

"All right.  Now, lean forward, just a little, and look down."

Her hands tighten on the railing so hard it hurts.  She makes herself lower her eyes and tilt her head downward.  Foliage, lots of it, tree branches and mats of vines full of purple flowers, the path, the _path_ so far below and small and the people like dolls - 

She closes her eyes and turns away, breath suddenly short and painful, her chest feeling heavy and choked. Spencer puts an arm around her shoulders and steers her back toward the elevators.

"Has it been five minutes yet?" she manages, her voice feeling thick and clumsy.

"Not quite. But I'm guessing you've had enough?"

"God, yes."

Once they're back on the ground floor, she sits down on the low rock wall bordering the nearest part of the display, concentrating on taking deep, even breaths and waiting for her legs to stop feeling wobbly.  Spencer waits, standing beside her with his hands behind his back, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and then back down again over and over.  The woman in the blue shirt passes by at one point, slowing to look back at them rather strangely, but no one else seems to notice.  Good.  This is already embarrassing enough.

" _That_ wasn't any fun," she finally says.

"You did really good, though.  The brochure? It says this atrium's 93 feet high.  That catwalk's halfway up, so you were up 46 and a half feet.  That's higher than the park bridge or anywhere else you've tried so far.  Plus, you looked _down_."

"Yay me."  She keeps her voice flat on purpose.

"No, seriously, that was a big step."

She stands up. "We're not getting to see everything, though."

"So we'll just have to come back once you've worked up to that part."

 

They go to the Desert Room next.  The path winds through a small-scale canyon of carefully arranged large rocks, the plants sprouting from sand beds in some spots and seeming to grow right out of the rock in others.  The air is dry and hot and faintly sage-scented.

Spencer stops just inside the door and looks around, a huge, slightly goofy grin on his face.  "This is just like where I grew up.  Smells like it, too."

"Cool."

"No, hot."  He nudges her shoulder, and she groans slightly at the bad joke.

They walk past tall budding cacti and low, fan-shaped cacti and succulents that resemble giant Brussels sprouts.  She stops to take pictures of a squat brown tree covered in prickles.  Spencer moves a few paces away and starts examining a branching cactus that looks like a green, spiky sock monkey.

She's zooming the camera in on the thorny surface of the tree trunk, wondering how the trunk itself can have prickles, when a voice suddenly speaks on her left. "Ma'am?"

She jumps a little and looks over.  It's the woman in the blue shirt.  Up close, she looks about fifty or so, smiling face lightly seamed with wrinkles and eyes wide and alert behind glasses. 

"Um...yes?"  

"I hope you don't mind."  Blue Shirt's voice is annoyingly loud.  "We keep ending up in the same rooms, so I couldn't help seeing you.  I just wanted to say what a _nice_ job you're doing with that young man.  I'm a special ed teacher myself, so I know how hard it can be taking someone with autism to this busy a public place.  But that training being out is _so_ important for them, don't you agree?  What agency are you from?"

"...Agency?"  Then it dawns on her, exactly what Blue Shirt is talking about - and assuming - and she goes cold, right through to her insides, like she just swallowed a bagful of ice.  She can see Spencer, on the woman's other side. Judging by how he's turned around, staring, completely still, she knows he must have heard too.

"Yes, so many of the ID/DD services around here have really undertrained staff - "

"Lady."  She finds herself taking a step closer to Blue Shirt, watching her back up a step to compensate.  "First of all, he's _more_ than capable of being out on his own.  Second - you know what? Where the _hell_ do you get off talking like anyone who _does_ need a caretaker is just some big chore to deal with?  _Training being out_? What, like they're dogs being walked, or something?"  She's shaking. "Oh, and talking about him right in front of him, like he's not there, that's rotten too."

"Ma'am, I - just thought - " Blue Shirt's smile is gone, replaced by a scared look. _Good_. 

"I'm not his caretaker, I'm his girlfriend.  Not that it's any concern of yours."

"Girlfriend?  Honey, I don't know what you're talking about, but people with his disability don't date.  They're not capable of understanding it.  It's kind of sad, really, but it's probably for the best - the genetics if they had kids, you know."

" _What?_ " Her hands are clenched in fists now. She knows she's being loud, but she doesn't care anymore. "Wow. This whole conversation?  It's the single biggest load of prejudiced _crap_ I've ever heard in my life.  And you're a _special ed teacher_?  God, your poor students."

"You don't have to overreact!  I just thought we worked in the same business, that's all!"  

" _Business_?  Next time, try _minding yours!_ "  She glares, till Blue Shirt pushes past her with a loud _hmph_ sound and heads off down the path.

She's hyperventilating a little, tears stinging her eyes, but she watches to be sure Blue Shirt's really leaving.  Once she sees the woman pass through the sliding doors at the room's other end, she turns back to Spencer.

He's not there.

 

Finding him takes a little deduction.  She could have him paged, or call his phone, but she's not sure he'd respond.  She _is_ pretty sure he wouldn't leave the gardens entirely, or go back anywhere they've already been, with as busy as those places were.  She ponders one of the big wall maps, trying to ignore the vague weight of anxiety in her chest.  He would go someplace quiet, out-of-the-way, with space around him...

She checks the outdoor spaces - the water garden, the rose garden - focusing on the shady spots.  Finally, she sees him, sitting on the edge of a small tiered fountain in a dim alcove of flowering shrubs. She fakes a cough as she comes up behind him, to avoid startling him.

"Hey."  

"Hey."  Spencer's staring at the falling water.  He's holding a big dry leaf, slowly picking it apart in small, even bits, which he lets fall into the fountain.  He doesn't look at her when she sits down beside him.

"You okay?"

His smile is very small.  "Oh, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Look, that woman was just an ignorant jackass with a nosiness problem.  I mean, I'm not gonna tell you how to feel about it, I'm pretty furious right now too, but - "

"That's not it."

"Then what?"

He stammers a little before he can get the answer out:  "Sometimes...I think maybe you should be with someone normal instead."

All she can do is stare at him, mouth open, going cold with shock again despite the heat.

He continues.  "I mean, if I'm that - that _obvious_ \- there's gonna be other people realizing it and - hassling us with the same stuff."  His voice is shaking.  "What she said?  That's what a _lot_ of people think about...people like me.  Can't understand anything, have to be _trained_ , incapable of love, bad genes - all she had to do was say I must be violent, too, and she would have had the whole stereotype list."

"Spencer - "

"We get - unnecessary surgeries and, and aversive therapy for stimming, and - poisonous quack medicine, and - your own profession calls the chance of having a kid like me a _risk_!"  His speech is speeding up. She really has to concentrate to understand. "And it's not just that stuff, I cause _you_ problems, with my rambling and my hearing and how I can't even make eye contact with you and...you keep feeling like you have to ask before you even touch me and I'm...embarrassing you in public."  He takes his sunglasses off and starts cleaning them with the tail of his sweater.  "I just...don't know if it's fair to you."

" _Spencer_."  Her voice sounds strange, probably because her throat's gone tight with wanting to cry.  "The people who do that stuff are awful, and you don't embarrass me, and I don't _want_ to be with 'someone normal'.  I want to be with _you._ "

He goes very still.  Then, she feels his hand, closing over hers where it rests on the fountain's edge.  She laces her fingers with his.

"Sorry I walked off," he says.

" S' okay. Do you want to carry on with the tour?" she asks.

"Not really. I don't want to chance running into that woman again, and...I'd rather we go back to your place early.  We can't see everything here properly in one day, anyway."

"Sure.  Should we get pizza?"

His smile this time is still small, but genuine now. "It's practically a requirement."

 

 Her apartment feels surprisingly dark after the brightness of outdoors.  She opens the living room blinds, letting thin gold light in.  Spencer wanders over to the couch, where one recliner footrest sits open, and tries to push it back in.

"It's broken," she tells him.  "I tried to fix it, but it didn't work."

"Oh."  He sits on the other side and takes out his phone.

"Hey." She holds up a hand. "I'll get it this time."

"Is that okay for you? Moneywise, I mean."

"Yeah.  Unemployment pays enough for me to do it once in a while."

"You're getting unemployment?"

"When...everything was going on...and I knew I'd have to leave my job, I talked to my old boss.  He arranged things somehow so I was officially 'let go' instead of resigning.  He said that way, I could get unemployment if I needed it later on.  Good thing he did."

She can't remember the pizza place's number, but it's on a promotional magnet on the fridge.  She goes into the kitchen to make the call, then joins Spencer on the couch, maneuvering carefully onto the jammed side.

"It should arrive soon.  They're not that busy."

"Good."  He puts an arm around her, gingerly, then tighter, and she puts her head on his shoulder.  "Um...Maeve?"

"Mm-hm?"

"You don't _have_ to ask to touch me."

She sits up straight again, to look at him.  "You said you don't like unexpected touch."

"Keyword, _unexpected_. But you're not..." He grins. "You're not unexpected anymore."

"Well."  She turns in toward him a bit. "Still, though.  Tell me if you don't like something."

"I will."  He closes his eyes.

"That said, I think I'll kiss you."  She tilts Spencer's chin down slightly and does, once, twice. His other arm goes around her.  Then he's kissing her back, his hands are on her hips, and - _hm_ \- the way they're sitting, they're pressed together rather interestingly.  She moves a little further over, to nibble at his ear. He moans and shifts deliciously against her, and now she's somehow partly on top of him and _extremely_ aware of where his hands are, her waist, higher up her sides, then stopping, still entirely too low.

She closes her eyes and moves her own hands, to cover his, guiding them till they're on her breasts.  She hears his sharp intake of breath, and lets go, so it's just his hands there, warm and cupping and then exploring.  She tips her head back. _Oh._ She hasn't been touched like this in so long, and it's so _good_ -

A loud _sproing!_ , then an even louder _BAM!_ and a sudden jolt and drop downward, making him yelp and sending her toppling forward onto him. Once they're able to struggle mostly upright, they see it: the recliner part of this side has snapped open, entirely of its own accord.  Spencer tries to push the footrest back down with his legs, but it won't budge.

"You're right. This couch is definitely broken," he says solemnly.

They look at each other and start laughing.

 

 


End file.
